


you can't make any promises (you can make me a drink)

by stardians



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018), Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018) Spoilers, Bisexual Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel), F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), These two belong together Trust Me, This is the first valk/ava fic so I hope I did the tag right, Thor: Ragnarok (2017), ghost - Freeform, not sure how long this will end up being
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-06-23 03:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15597540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardians/pseuds/stardians
Summary: Ava is finally free of pain and wants to experience every new feeling she can find.Brunnhilde is just trying to escape her own.They meet at the worst possible time. Or maybe, it's the best.





	1. dive bar on the east side

Ava pulled at the sleeves of her sweater as she squinted at the red letters flickering above her. She was sure this was the place — hole in the wall, a little run-down, gimmicky and dim if not for all the neon beer signs. Definitely Scott’s type.

 

She pressed the door to the bar open, taking in the atmosphere. After considering her options (the right side of the room looked too rowdy for her comfort level, and she didn’t want to be anywhere near that dartboard), she slid into an empty seat on the corner, near the door so she could leave if she changed her mind. Or if Bill discovered that she was, in fact, not staying over with the Pyms for research.

 

Ava and Bill had rented an apartment in Malibu, near the Pyms’ new home, after realizing that San Francisco’s police force would never fully recover from the whole Giant Man Incident. All of the eyes were making them nervous, and they had enough run-ins with the law already to put them at the top of everyone’s list. So both families trekked down south, where the chaos provided by vacationers and VIPs would provide more than enough cover for their not-quite-legal activities.

 

The bartender seemed to be busy impressing a group of women to her right, so Ava let her attention wander over to the cluster of knickknacks and fake valuables plastered on the walls. At last she spotted what she had been searching for — a broken lightbulb decorated with several autographs, displayed in a box so as to preserve each shard of glass that had shattered from it. So the story was true. She stifled a giggle, remembering a conversation she had overheard in the lab when Scott was visiting the other day. 

 

Ava couldn’t quite remember the whole plot, as Scott tended to ramble when talking about his friends from Germany. She recalled a few things — the man with the arrows had been to California too, there was a bar that the team used to visit by Tony Stark’s mansion, something about a baseball game and the God of Thunder, and now there was a shattered lightbulb. But she did keep in mind one important detail — the bar was called Jackpot Alley and it sat just five minutes from the Pyms’ house. So here she was.

 

And there the bartender was, still shaking up some concoction with his biceps flexed an unnecessary amount. She sighed, almost ready to slip back out the door and call it a night, when she felt someone take the seat to her right. 

 

Glancing over, Ava’s eyes widened at the woman perched next to her. She was dressed in what could only be described as battle gear, and had a jagged wound running down her arm (not to mention her muscles, which could take on the creepy bartender’s any day of the week). 

 

“Evening,” the warrior girl uttered to Ava, though her gaze was still fixed on the bottles behind the bar. 

 

“Evening,” Ava replied softly.

 

”Has he been doing that all night?” the woman groaned, craning her neck to watch the bartender chat up yet another uninterested group of twenty-somethings.

 

“Yeah, for as long as I’ve been here. Feels like I’ve been invisible,” Ava remarked, before realizing that her companion wouldn’t exactly understand her implications. 

 

Even so, it elicited a chuckle from her as she turned to face Ava. “Pretty girl like you, invisible? Seems hard to believe,” she replied with a playful smile. Ava blushed, looking down at her hands. This hadn’t been the intended direction for her night, but she was enjoying the feelings. Fluttering in her stomach, warmth all over. Every new experience brought new sensations, and Ava wanted to dive in deeper.

 

“I’m Ava,” she smiled. “Have you got a name?”

 

The woman’s eyes flashed with feeling — remorse? loss? something too quick for Ava to catch — before she answered.

 

“Brunnhilde.” 

 

Ava cocked her head slightly, the unusual name intriguing her further. She had a million questions on her lips, ready to be raised, when Brunnhilde shot out of her seat with a jolt. 

 

“Hey!” She slapped her hands on the bar, making the bartender wobble in his uncomfortably-leaned-over position. “Have you finished measuring your tiny dick yet, or should my friend and I just leave?”

 

The bartender huffed, his cheeks burning red as the victims to his flirting giggled at his embarrassment. Rolling his eyes, he made his way over to Brunnhilde and Ava, who were both snickering into their sleeves as well.

 

“Wow, you’re powerful,” Ava commented through a goofy grin. 

 

Brunnhilde raised her eyebrows, unconsciously tapping her fingers on a piece of metal strapped to her thigh. “You haven’t seen the half of it,” she replied breezily, and as she turned to face the bartender who had reached them at last, Ava studied the object of Brunnhilde’s attention — the hilt of a sword, the rest tucked away in a pocket of her armor.

  
She certainly knew how to make a statement. She was so opposite from Ava, so much brighter and bolder and  _ there _ . And if Ava hadn’t seen the half of it yet, she figured she just had to stick around to find the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a slow start but I have SO MANY plans! Next chapter will be Brunnhilde's pov/how she got here so tune in for that one soon. Brava is such an interesting pairing so I hope more (read: better) writers explore these characters together!!!!


	2. whiskey on ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brunnhilde's day has taken several turns for the worst, and she really needs a drink. On a new planet with nothing tying her down, she has no idea what's in store for her next.

Brunnhilde’s arrival at Jackpot Alley was much more unexpected. 

 

For an emergency ship, her escape vehicle didn’t have the best emergency landing features. All the lights began flashing red, and the Grandmaster appeared in hologram form to let her know that “Uh-oh, you seem to be headed for, uhh, imminent death.”

 

“You’re not helping!” Brunnhilde shouted at the projection, punching her fist through a whole panel of buttons to get the man to disappear. At this, the ship sputtered, zigzagging and tossing Brunnhilde around in the cockpit. 

 

The next thing she knew, she was kicking out the door, helping disoriented Asgardians out of the sinking ship. They made it to shore, and immediately turned to Brunnhilde for direction.

 

“Don’t look at me. You’re the civilized ones,” Brunnhilde sputtered, uncomfortable with the questioning eyes all pointed at her. She wasn’t exactly a leader; not one fit for the Asgardians, anyways. Also, she was plain tired of playing babysitter. She turned over her shoulder and began walking away from the coast, not taking a moment to look back.

 

“I need a drink. Don’t follow me.” 

 

Luckily, she knew just where to go. As the Asgardians piled into the emergency ship and chaos surrounded her, she had punched in the coordinates to the only Earthian city she could think of. Malibu, California; two of the last normal words she had heard Thor speak before it was all yells and commands of “Run!” or “Take cover!” 

 

She squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t all that long ago.

 

“...Valkyrie, I promise, you are going to love Earth. They have this gym called, uh, Crossed Fit? It’s incredible, it truly is. Oh, and plenty of places to get drunk, you know, if you are into that.” Thor added the last part mockingly, which Valkyrie answered with a smack on the arm. 

 

“Yeah, the American bars love Thor,” Bruce laughed. “Especially when he swings his hammer around and nearly wrecks the whole place.”

 

“Bruce! That was one time! Tony was teaching me how to play baseball,” Thor replied, looking dreamily into the distance. 

 

Bruce was skeptical. “One time, Thor? I remember this happening on multiple occasions.”

 

“Yes,” Thor responded, “one time. Jackpot Alley. Malibu, California. And they  _ did  _ love me for that. They kept the lightbulb,” he remembered proudly.

 

Thor laughing, Bruce smiling, Brunnhilde shaking her head at the two idiots. Before Thor was pulled away, just for a minute. Before it all got dark. 

 

Before she was on her feet, protecting Asgard and all it stood for again. Before Loki grabbed her hands, told her to save the people, as many as she could. Told her that the emergency ship was down the corridor on the second left. Told her, “Earth. Not Sakaar. Take them to Earth.”

 

She was shaking now. Bloody idiots had stayed behind to do the honorable thing, and now she was here, in some random town she had chosen because someone told her there was a bar. Fucking typical of her.

 

She would never get better. It was stupid even to think about trying.

 

So off she went, one faltering step at a time until she regained her composure. Eventually she remembered that she actually had a destination to reach, and got directions from a man in a food truck. He then complimented her “sick cosplay.” She didn’t know what that was, but didn’t feel like picking a fight and thanked him for the directions anyways.

 

The bar was nothing spectacular. Then again, Thor had allegedly nearly destroyed the place, so she couldn’t hold much against it. She took a seat on the empty side of the bar, feeling at ease for the first time after the nightmare of a day she just experienced. Not nearly at ease enough, but that feeling would come after a drink or ten.

 

She felt a dozen pairs of eyes burning into her. Valkyrian armor probably wasn’t the safest move for her first day on a new planet, but she didn’t want to waste any time. Unlike the bartender, who hadn’t so much as glanced in Brunnhilde’s direction since she walked in. If he didn’t start doing his job soon, she was going to rip out his throat and use it as a shot glass.

 

The girl sitting to her left was still staring. Intently. Without making eye contact, Brunnhilde broke the silent tension between the two.

 

“Evening,” she stated, focusing on the multicolored bottles lining the back walls. She would kill for a Sakaarian cocktail right now, but this Earthian bar didn’t have the technology. Looks like it was whiskey on ice for her.

 

“Evening,” the other woman responded, her gently lilting voice snapping Brunnhilde back from her thoughts. It was beautiful, and a bit strange, and entirely captivating -- and so Brunnhilde kept talking.

 

Of course, drinks were still her number one priority. So she decided to complain about the bartender (her mind never empty of insults for gross men) which was met with a sympathetic groan from her neighbor. She looked over for the girl’s response, and froze when she met eyes with the most fascinatingly gorgeous woman she had ever seen. Her hair was in waves that were part chaos, part effortless, and her soft smile was the kind that could melt your heart into a puddle of honey. It took Brunnhilde back to a different time, a different girl...

 

She was so beautiful. Which is why it caught Brunnhilde off guard when she said something about feeling invisible.

 

“Pretty girl like you, invisible? Seems hard to believe,” Brunnhilde shot back playfully. Like she was someone else, someone who should be flirting with random women at a bar on a planet they’d just stepped foot on hours ago.

  
But everything was gone.  _ Everything _ , really everything this time. Why should it even matter?

 

“I’m Ava,” the girl introduced herself, blushing. “Have you got a name?”

 

Brunnhilde blanked. She hadn’t used her actual name in years; no one had ever asked for it. She’d been Scrapper-142, or whatever nickname the Hulk decided to call her that day, or recently, Valkyrie (which, if she was being honest, stung a little bit.) At this point, it was almost unfamiliar.

 

But there was something about this girl that drew the honesty out of her. At first glance Ava looked soft, calm, centered...but there was something about her body language that seemed too tense. Like she was trying too hard to relax her muscles, to force herself to look normal. Brunnhilde knew that posture, and she knew the mindset that it grew from. The things a person had to experience to be so constantly on edge, trying to hide their reflexes or worries or anything that would make them look weak. It was so deeply ingrained in her, seeing it in Ava was like looking at a reflection of herself from years ago.

 

So she let Ava in on a secret that no one knew she was hiding.

 

“Brunnhilde.”

 

As soon as she tasted the word, she knew she wouldn’t last much longer sober. Why the hell wasn’t the bartender here yet? She stood up, watching him ogle some unlucky blondes. Ugh. Time to make a scene.

 

“Hey!” He stumbled, finally looking over to Brunnhilde. “Have you finished measuring your tiny dick yet, or should my friend and I just leave?”

 

Oh. She was a little more on edge than she thought. Sitting back down, she kept eye contact with the bartender; partly because he looked hilariously sheepish and partly to avoid Ava’s reaction. Gentle, timid Ava. Brunnhilde would be lucky if she wasn’t out the door by now --

 

She spun around to the sound of muffled laughter. Ava was trying to keep herself together, giggling into the sleeves of her sweater. When she saw Brunnhilde, they both lost it, laughing hysterically like they were girls up too late at a sleepover. Brunnhilde thought she could forget herself in this moment and live forever in laughter and mischief and Ava’s green eyes. Which was a little forward, she realized. 

 

She had little information about where in the galaxy she was. She had no plan, no people, and no way off of this planet. 

 

But this girl, Ava, was here. So she might as well make tonight count, before reality came in and crushed her to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was basically a rehashing of the first chapter, but from Brunnhilde's perspective. I thought it was important to show how both girls got to the same spot in the lead-up to the meat of the story. Also I wanted Thor to enter the story (Thorbruce is thriving!) Thanks for the love on the first chapter! More is coming soon!!!!


	3. i can't say anything to your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Brunnhilde and Ava get their drinks! And a heavy heaping of backstory, as per usual.

“What’ll it be?”

The bartender avoided looking Brunnhilde in the eyes, much to Ava’s amusement. She held in her laughter as he shifted uncomfortably, fidgeting more every second that Brunnhilde didn’t give him an answer. From the little information she’d garnered tonight, Ava guessed that striking fear into the hearts of men was a practiced hobby of Brunnhilde’s. And she really liked that.

“Whiskey neat. Better make it a double,” Brunnhilde finally uttered, her voice made of steel and sharp knives. It scared the bartender right into complying, quickly setting a glass on the bar and turning to Ava.

“And for you?”

She sat up straight before reciting the order she’d had planned in her mind the whole night -- “A glass of white wine, please.”

Her words were met with furrowed eyebrows from the bartender, but he seemed to have learned his lesson from earlier and got searching for a wine glass. Standing cluelessly in front of an arrangement of bottles, he yelled, “Is Pinot Grigio okay?”

“Um...sure, that’s fine,” Ava answered, sounding uncertain. The man huffed, muttered something under his breath about “whiny millennials.”

Brunnhilde, on the other hand, wasn’t as discreet with her judgements. 

“You really wanna go for white wine at a place like this?” she chuckled, sipping her drink.

Ava chewed on her lip, watching the bartender clumsily uncork a dusty bottle from the top shelf. “I didn’t realize it would be a problem.”

The man sat her glass down, and Brunnhilde peered into it suspiciously before meeting Ava’s eyes again.

“Have you ever done this before?” she pushed lightheartedly. 

Ava sighed.

“Not here…” 

She brought the glass to her lips, and the taste took her back in time. Not too far back -- a few weeks, give or take. Right after the move, after Janet came back and Ava’s world shifted in ways she never thought possible.

Janet was first of the Pyms to really welcome her in, having never been angry in the first place. She would sit with Ava on the sand, listening to her struggles and holding her hand. Janet would share some of her own stories from the quantum realm, creating an understanding between the two that the other Pyms could not fathom at first. In time, Hope came along, and Hank as well when he realized he was in the minority.

During one of their frequent oceanside conversations, Janet proclaimed that they should have a picnic by the sea. It had, after all, been thirty-three years since Janet had made a proper picnic, and a whole lifetime for Ava. So the two laid out a quilt, bringing apples and cheeses and bread, and a bottle of white wine.

Ava had never drank alcohol. Never had the need, or even the desire, since enough unnerving emotions were already eating at her body. But a whole new world had just opened its doors to her, allowing her to make up for lost time and passed chances. And she accepted.

For a colorless drink, it tasted of so many colors; the brightness of the sun, the pale salt of ocean spray, the sweetness of flower petals and mango slices. And everything got warm, and a little blurred, and beautiful. She felt it in her sway, in her tinkling laughter as she and Janet watched the seagulls scuttle away from the waves. 

Janet explained that Ava was probably feeling ‘tipsy,’ an in-between stage of sobriety and full intoxication. And Ava suddenly realized why it all felt so almost-familiar -- feeling so lightweight that your body may as well be nonexistent, like you’re floating in the breeze, and could disappear at any moment if you simply thought about it -- it was like phasing. Without the twisting, gnawing, grueling hurt of the real thing, but all the good feelings in their place. In-between. She was thrilled. And she wanted to feel it again.

Jackpot Alley didn’t exactly share Janet’s taste in spirits. The mild, tasteless drink could not compare to the crisp, summery whirlwind that Ava reveled in on the beach, but she would take what she could get.

She opened her eyes, finished flipping through her memories, to find Brunnhilde shaking her head in amusement.

“What?” Ava asked, already self-conscious about the whole white wine ordeal.

“I’ve never seen someone so enthralled by a shitty glass of wine,” Brunnhilde teased, making Ava’s jaw drop in fake dramatics.

“Well, what’s so much better about what you’re drinking?” she shot back, partly in defense of her wine of choice and partly because she was plain curious.

Brunnhilde downed the rest of her whiskey in one gulp, setting back on the bar for their new friend to refill. “Gets the job done quicker,” she answered, eyebrows raised. 

Ava had never considered that aspect of drinking -- speed. The experience was all too exciting, the journey just as fun as the destination. Especially when she was in good company, as she was tonight. So she asked, gently, “Why would you want it to go faster?”

Immediately, something in their shared atmosphere shifted. Brunnhilde’s exterior seemed to have hardened in a matter of seconds, her hands nearly clenched into fists. The bartender slid her a new drink and she stared into it before lifting her head to look back at Ava. Her eyes seemed to reach out to the other girl, desperately grasping onto anything Ava could give her. Only a moment passed before she looked away, finishing her whiskey in one go and slamming it back onto the bar.

“It’s easier when it goes faster,” Brunnhilde wavered, “when you have a lot to forget.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hear that? It's the sound of the angst train, coming to you live in the next chapter!!  
> I just started college so I don't have as much writing time as I did over the summer, but I will try my very best to keep updating! Thanks for reading and supporting The Gays :)  
> Ps the amount of research I did on white wines for this chapter was hilariously unnecessary but very educational


	4. this ain't for the best

_ “It’s easier when it goes faster,” Brunnhilde wavered, “when you have a lot to forget.” _

  
  


She had tried so hard. New planet, new name, and absolutely nothing to remind her of those years on Asgard as a Valkyrie. At the beginning, she thought she was in the clear. The booze was cheap, and scavenging was a job best done drunk. Better not to have a clear mindset when you’re signing the death sentences of strangers.

 

Sometimes it would come back -- she’d see a girl with the same eyes, or the same wave in her blonde hair. It was months before she even considered knowing a woman in that way again, though she never followed through. How could she just forswear her first love, her last, her best…

 

Her last words. Brunnhilde remembered it all, eyes pulled wide, ears ringing, throat raw from the screams that didn’t stop. And she whispered her last words, and Brunnhilde could do nothing. Nothing but fall into a pile of corpses; her leaders’ and friends’ mutilated bodies surrounding her. She waited it out. She got lucky, she thought initially, until she realized exactly what that luck had brought her. 

 

After that day, it was all too easy to shut herself off. She left before anyone could find out that a Valkyrie was still alive. She didn’t need the questions, the uncomfortable pity. What she needed was a very strong drink. 

 

She wouldn’t say that she had problems with alcohol before the attack — a few cocktails with the girls on their off days, sure, but she never felt an intense craving for her senses to be dulled or her words to be slurred. How would she fight off their enemies in that condition? 

 

But on that dreaded trek back into the city, she could think of nothing but getting out of her own head for a few hours. She couldn’t bring herself to walk back into their home, their room where she kept fine bottles of Asgardian wine and liquor. So she stole a bottle of the strongest-looking stuff she could grab unnoticed. Drank it down quickly. Took off in the nearest ship. And the next morning, she woke up on Sakaar. 

 

Call it fate, if you would. Brunnhilde wouldn’t. She didn’t think about it that deeply. Nothing mattered anymore but getting paid and getting booze, letting the burning liquid cleanse her of her tragedies for a few hours, until it wore off and she had to find another warm body to sell to the Grandmaster. Rinse and repeat.

 

When Hulk showed up, though, the light started shining back into her world. Their training sessions were almost cathartic, almost enough to ease her mind. But not enough. 

 

Thor was different. His energy, his radical desire to do the right thing, even if it meant chaos. She soaked it all in. She thought she was really headed for a change, opening up to him about her dependency, letting him convince her that they were saving the world. But of course, the bitter gods just wanted to laugh in her face again. 

 

No goodness is worth the pain that comes after. She had learned that lesson twice. Better to drink now and be prepared for the inevitable. 

 

She lifted her chin at the bartender, signaling for another whiskey while Ava eyed her curiously.

 

“So...this helps you forget?” Ava considered, swirling her wine around in her glass. Brunnhilde shrugged halfheartedly.

 

“If you’re lucky. Which I usually am, for better or for worse.” Looking over, she noticed how intently Ava was hanging on to her every word. How she leaned into the conversation, nodding slightly for Brunnhilde to continue.

 

“They’re never gone for good. The memories, the ghosts,” Brunnhilde murmured. “They always come back. So if you do it fast, and if it works, then maybe you’ll be happy for the night.” 

 

Maybe it was the whiskey already buzzing through her system, or the girl sitting in front of her, but the words just seemed to flood out from Brunnhilde’s brain. She felt lighter, like her horrible burden had eased off her shoulders in the short time she’d opened up to Ava. 

 

“I know enough about ghosts,” Ava mused, before turning her attention to Brunnhilde’s now half-full tumbler of whiskey. “And that kind in particular, it works?” The other woman raised her eyebrows, clinking her cup against Ava’s before gulping the rest of the drink down.

 

Ava followed suit, finishing her wine off in a much more delicate manner and gently setting her glass down. Still, it was enough to surprise Brunnhilde. She only knew Ava in bits and pieces, but this seemed unlike the reserved, thoughtful girl who she’d sat down next to earlier. Amused, she cheered Ava on as she held up her empty glass, victorious.

 

“Excuse me,” Ava called to the bartender, who visibly jolted before turning back to the two girls. “Can I please get a…” she trailed off, peering down into Brunnhilde’s drink as if to spot its name in the liquid before giving up. “...what she’s having.”

 

“Whiskey neat,” Brunnhilde reminded him. “Make it two.  _ Please _ .”

 

Exasperated, the bartender obliged. He fixed their drinks, reminding them that they had better stick around to pay for these, and jetted back to the far end of the bar. 

 

Brunnhilde clutched her new glass, taking solace in every bit of comfort she could indulge in. But she somehow sensed that it wasn’t the same for Ava -- something seemed a little off. As cute as she was when she took her first sip, winced a bit at the flavor, and turned to Brunnhilde to celebrate her brave new achievement, it didn’t seem natural.

 

Her face still twisted in slight disgust, Ava shook her head at the drink. “This had better wipe me clean,” she remarked playfully, “or I’m not sure if it’s worth the taste.”

 

“You get used to it,” Brunnhilde replied to Ava’s last comment, but what Ava said before that made her stomach turn.  _ Wipe me clean.  _

 

“I’m sure I will. It’s what I’ve been told to do my whole life.” Ava closed her eyes for a moment, leaving Brunnhilde to simmer over her words before turning back to the bar. 

 

Brunnhilde was never one to turn down a good time, a good round of drinks. She was probably the last person to do so. But when she heard Ava call out to the bartender for another, she felt like crushing every damn bottle in the whole room. And she didn’t know what that meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew it's been a while...i hope this makes up for the delay and sorry if it causes you any pain. i rewrote the ending to this chapter about four different times and it was originally a lot longer and angstier, so really you all got off easy. also, my fall break is this coming week, so i plan on getting a lot of ground work done on this bad boy!
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and sticking with me. next chapter is ava's!


	5. is it cool that i said all that?

Ava closed her eyes as the warmth rolled over her once again, sinking further into the looseness of the moment. She felt everything in the present, everything that was  _ now _ and nothing else. There was nothing lingering, staying past its welcome, as there always had been. Everything was delicious and fleeting, and she was happy to sit back and observe the ebb and flow of these feelings.

 

She came back to reality, back to Brunnhilde sitting in front of her with the strangest look on her face. Ava cocked her head, trying to read into the expression of the other woman. It was too vague, and the room was feeling too structureless and wavy for Ava to really look at her. Attempting to focus in on her eyes, Ava’s eyes wandered from the sharp edges of Brunnhilde’s jawline to the roundness of each of her lips, then up to the tip of her nose and around the arches of her eyebrows. She couldn’t help it, where she was looking or what she was thinking. Suddenly she was taking a breath and her mouth was moving and she heard herself whisper, “You’re beautiful, Brunnhilde.”

 

A slight pink formed on the other woman’s cheeks from the unexpected compliment. Ava smiled and leaned closer, hoping that the strange energy from earlier would dissolve now. But it didn’t--Brunnhilde furrowed her brows even more, and Ava swore she could’ve heard cranks and gears clicking around in her head if she listened close enough. Finally Brunnhilde took a breath, drumming her fingers on the surface of the bar.

 

“Ava, I hope that nothing I’ve said has been misleading you…” She chewed on her lip, struggling to continue. “The things I do--they’re not really my choice. It’s just...what I have to do to get through things. To keep steady. Do you know what I mean?”

 

Ava threw her head back with an almost bitter laughter. “I haven’t known the meaning of the word steady my whole life.” She shook her head a little, eating up the feeling of talking about her past in such a freeing way. Of tossing it around like a plaything, knowing at any moment she could put it down in favor of something else. It was powerful-- _ she  _ was powerful like this.

 

“I’m not sure exactly what you’ve been through,” Brunnhilde began, sounding like footsteps treading carefully over shattered glass, “and I don’t want to step on your own decisions. But I also don’t want you to find yourself down a dead-end street.”

 

Ava rolled her eyes a little, unamused by Brunnhilde playing babysitter to her. She made her own decisions; no one was going to step on anything. Not anymore.

 

“Look, thanks for the advice, but I think I can handle myself,” Ava answered, crossing her arms loosely at her chest.

 

Brunnhilde pursed her lips at that comment, tossing it around in her head for a minute. “Alright,” she responded, the uncertainty that had fogged over her face now disappearing. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it. We’ve been talking for ages now and I don’t know much about you, Ava…”

 

“Starr,” she finished. “I just moved here, to Malibu. I live in an apartment a little west of here.”

 

“Well that’s just perfect, Ava Starr, because I just got here too.” Brunnhilde smirked a little, her bold attitude finally returning. Ava smiled with relief, her interest piquing again as she asked:

 

“Where from?”

 

Brunnhilde shook her head. “You first.”

 

Ava combed through her brain to decide where to start. “Uh, up north. San Francisco area. I’ve lived there my whole life, basically.”

 

‘Basically’ was used loosely here--of course she had lived in San Francisco, when she had considered herself to be  _ living _ . The missions she’d traveled for, the stints in different facilities and experiments and training, that wasn’t really her. And that wasn’t what Brunnhilde was asking about, she guessed. To tell this woman she’d just met at a bar a story like that…

 

“What about you? Ancient Rome?” Ava joked, gesturing to the sword. Brunnhilde sat for a minute before the joke finally clicked, giving a halfhearted giggle.

 

“I jump around. Not really committed to one place as ‘home.’” She shrugged, glancing around at the cluttered walls and clustered patrons of the bar. “Do you like it here? In Malibu?”

 

Ava did like it here. She liked Janet and Hank’s beach house, where the soft white sands scratched at her feet and the winds sent a cooling breeze over her face, and she could sit just like that for hours, feeling open and alone and free. She liked the kitchen of her apartment with Bill, the way the sun rose outside the window above the sink while they made omelettes or pancakes on the stove. She liked everything slow and easy about Malibu, everything gentle and welcoming and warm. So she connected the dots in a more appropriate way.

 

“I do. It’s calm here. It’s just what I needed, really.” Ava thought for a moment before continuing. “I’m seeing that more everyday, with every minute. It feels right.”

 

And the more she thought about it, the more she realized just how right it felt. Ava being here tonight, feeling the way she did, is how she wants everything to be for the rest of time.

 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Brunnhilde replied, setting her hand on the bar so that it slowly moved towards Ava’s; not rushing her, but letting her take it when she wanted to.

 

It was a thing of anxiety for Ava--physical touch and connection. ‘Cured’ as she was, she was still nervous that her hand would slip right through, phasing in and out again right when she needed to be one hundred percent here. So she eased her hand towards the center, slowly, willing her cells to stay intact for one more moment,  _ this  _ moment. 

 

She felt fingertips gingerly graze hers, separating so that they weaved in between one another, lacing the fingers of the two women together in a tangle of beautiful uncertainty. 

 

And then time clicked back into speed, and Ava was holding hands with this beautiful, gentle, badass woman, and she felt the beginning of a rare, new happiness glowing from her inside out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol @ me saying i would update more frequently in the last part...  
> i hope this little bit of happy times makes up for it! we are winding down to the end now so i'm hoping to wrap things up before new year's!  
> thanks for sticking with me, brava/avalk warriors. there still aren't that many of us but damn if we aren't persistent.   
> sending love for the holiday season and i will be back soon!! SOON soon this time


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